I chuckle while Walt gets all the colors he’ll need.
“It’s a heart.”
“That’sa heart? Why does it look…wrong?” he asks, tilting his head, trying to figure out if it really is a heart. Granted, the image contains gross anatomy, so I’m not surprised that Jack can’t immediately identify it as a heart.
“It’s a heart with hypoplastic left heart syndrome,” I answer.
“In English, please.”
“Ready?” Walt asks, needle prepped and in his gloved hand.
I nod for him to begin, and the first contact stings and surprises me. It hurts, but nothing I can’t withstand.
I decide educating Jack is a good distraction from the stinging discomfort I’m feeling.
“I lost a patient a few months back. This is what his heart looked like. It was a difficult case, and we did everything we could, but we couldn’t save him.”
“Fuck, dude. I didn’t. I mean. I know you work with sick kids. I’m sorry,” Jack says.
“Nothing to apologize for. His memory will remind me to work harder and try to be even better for the next kid. I promised his mother I’d never forget him. So, yea.”
“Lost my nephew to pediatric cancer three years ago. Fucking gutted our entire family. We all got his name and something special about him tattooed,” Walt chimes in. “Pretty fucking badass of you, Doc.”
“Call me Jon,” I request. Doc is reserved for my beautiful, reckless stunner.
The three of us sit in a morose, yet soothing silence as Walt continues. The needle buzzes and eventually, the stinging pain fades and becomes somewhat pleasant. I can see why people want more tattoos after their first.
A couple of hours go by, and the shop has new people coming and going. Walt tells me he’s almost finished. I’ve practically dozed off, feeling so relaxed in the chair. He wipes my arm, cleaning it of any ink and blood.
“Go take a look.” He nods his head at the full-length mirror next to his station. I extend my arm, trying to ignore the redness all around the fresh design.
I don’t fight the tears that pool in my eyes, not ashamed of remembering the sweetest kid who deserved a better,longerlife.
“It’s perfect.” I admire it for another minute or so, appreciating the precise linework that Walt did. I made sure to pick an artist who was skilled with realistic artwork, and Walt has certainly gained my trust and adoration.
Walt puts a thin layer of antiseptic cream over the fresh ink and wraps it in a bandage. He extends his tattooed hand for me to shake and says, “If you ever need to add to it, I hope you come back here. At the same time, I hope that’s the last tattoo I do for that piece.”
I nod in understanding, tears still silently falling down my face. Walt’s hazel eyes are also glassy.
I peel the bandage down and take one more look at the beautiful memory of Sammy, the champ.
EPILOGUE
Margeaux
One Year Later
Even with the lights off, this training facility is top tier. Clearly, no money was spared for equipment. There’s an entire recovery floor, with stretching rooms, a sauna, steam room, ice baths, massage tables, and even a plant room to just sit and enjoy greenery.
“Frankie paid for all of this?” I ask as Jon gives me a private tour.
A few sports medicine doctors at the hospital have been asked to staff this facility, and he’s become friends with a couple of them. We’re actually stopping by the hospital after this quick tour to visit a patient for one of Jon’s new friends. This orthopedic surgeon just operated on a girl who is a couple years younger than I am. I guess she had a serious injury during a rugby match. When Jon’s friend heard I was in town, he asked if I’d speak with her, try to cheer her up. I don’t know what I can tell her. I’ve never had a surgery before—knock on wood—and any injuries I’ve had have been pretty minor, but I’ll do my best to be encouraging.
“I don’t think so. I heard a few other people jumped in at the halfway point when they saw how many people were planning to travel here just to meet athletes and spectate training camps,” Jon says.
Makes sense. Since the women’s title match last spring, my career has skyrocketed. Everyone had me on their ticket to win the belt this year, but I’m starting to like being the underdog. Eva won it this year in a crazy match between her and Travis, Jazz’s boyfriend. Fans were blown away to see a woman defeat a man, and it made Eva’s popularity rise even higher. She’s even got a couple of girls who knew her growing up in L.A. coming to try out. They said she’s inspired them, and they want to see more strong Latinas in this program.
In fact, all the girls from last year’s match and I have gotten together to create a non-profit for young girls who are interested in wrestling. We are planning on hosting a few youth camps at this facility over the year once we get the non-profit fully up and running. It feels good to give back and to help more girls find this sport.
